Fifty Kisses
by Cynthia Salander
Summary: Fifty kisses between Chandler and Monica. Mondler. Vignettes.


_A/N: Wicked-Little-Heart, if you're reading this, I thank you because your wonderful, wonderful '40 Days On The Home Straight' has kindled my desire to write a drabble series :)_

_Now, these are more like little vignettes than drabbles – the word count may vary anywhere between 100-1000 for each chapter. The series will contain both canon and AR vignettes. I'm being (over)ambitious with "50", so if my muse fails me somewhere along the way, I might reduce the number of chapters ;)_

**Fifty Kisses**

**Chapter 1**

"Bye," Chandler murmured, smiling at Monica, his hand lingering on the doorknob for a few seconds.

_What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?! Don't leave now, idiot! She's standing there, waiting for you to kiss her. She's waiting there for you to tell her that that night meant a lot to you, too, and not just because she's 'hot'._

She smiled back without replying.

Was that a hint? Was not bidding goodbye her way of asking him not to leave?

He was reading too much into this whole thing.

He got horny, she got horny, they did it seven times (_seven times for crying out loud!)_ and they made up a 'Not in New York' rule, which he hadn't known would come back to bite him in the ass. And that was the end of the story.

His gaze lingering on her beautiful face, he let himself out, closing the door behind him softly.

He glanced down at the apple in his hand. He wasn't in the least hungry; he'd just picked it up from her refrigerator to stay with her for a few more seconds. He dropped it into his coat pocket, sighing.

He stood in the hallway, right between the door to his apartment, and hers, not knowing which door he should open.

Wanting to stay with her - wasn't that enough of a reason to go back inside her apartment? But he was not good at making the first move.

_It's Monica, Chandler, not some stranger. _

He stroked his forehead, smiling lightly as he remembered her questioning him about that tiny scar above his left eyebrow. Her voice soft and breathless from their lovemaking, she'd pressed her lips gently against the scar when he'd told her that it was from the infamous 'Pictionary' incident where she'd flung a plate at him.

His smile faded when he realized that he still had a decision to make.

He sighed again, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. He glanced at his watch and frowned when it said one o'clock. Wondering whether it'd stopped working, he tapped it twice before he realized that it was on London time. "Stupid London time," he muttered shaking his head.

His fingers moved to adjust his watch, but he stopped abruptly, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs.

He'd made a decision.

He turned towards Monica's apartment again, licking his suddenly dry lips. Inhaling deeply, he pushed open the door that he'd closed just a few seconds back.

Surprised to find Monica near the door, he shut it behind him, feeling his hope rear its head.

The levity that they'd found in the moment just a few minutes back had all vanished. This moment was potentially life-altering, and they both knew it.

She looked at him hopefully, longingly, and he knew he'd made the right decision in coming back.

He didn't even try to keep the desperation out of his voice. "I'm still on London time, does that count?"

"Oh," she nodded, looking relieved. "That counts."

"Oh, good," he murmured as he closed the gap between them in a second.

Their kisses in London had been hurried, hasty, and desperate.

This, though... _Perfect_, his heart told him as he pulled her closer.

She sighed into the kiss when his fingers brushed against her cheek. Her hands lingering on his nape for a few seconds, they moved to his shoulder to push his coat off. The coat fell onto the floor with a thud.

She pulled back to look at him, smiling lightly. "Apple?"

"Apple," he nodded, smiling back.

She stood on her toes to meet his gaze, his breath warm against her skin. "I'm glad you came back," she whispered before leaned in to kiss him again, long, slow and deep.

The warmth of her lips, their taste, her soft skin beneath his fingers - he could do this six ways to Sunday.

He pulled back, breathless. "Me, too," he nodded before their lips met again. His arms pulled her closer, and she felt her own tongue duel his for dominance.

She pulled away when she felt his fingers slip the strap of her dress off one shoulder. "I'm glad you're still on London time," she murmured, watching his lips curve into a slow, delicious smile as he leaned his forehead against hers.

"Me, too, Mon," he nodded, brushing his lips against hers softly. "Me, too."

~.~.~

_A/N: Well, what better kiss to start with than our all-time favorite 'London Time' kiss?_

_If anyone's interested, I'm writing the eleventh chapter of 'That Thing Called Love' right now, but I've also been having sudden bursts of ideas for 'Pretend', so you can expect either one of those to be updated in a couple of days :)_


End file.
